


Healing Touch

by RussianWitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Dirty Talk, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Fucked Up, M/M, Oviposition, Peter is a Little Shit, Referenced - Freeform, Weird Fluff, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: As much as Peter would have preferred to laugh his ass off at the traumatized hunter, for once he relented, playing the dutiful boyfriend instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> not betaed  
> and I apologize in advance, maybe

Peter manfully keeps his amusement to himself curled around his hunter as the man struggles not to whimper in agony.

Pups—sooner, or later they always elicit this reaction from their sires in Peter's experience. All that can be done, in his opinion, is grit his teeth and bear the insanity that's taken possession of the pup, and in some cases investment in a good lawyer.

Granted, Chris' pup had seemed one of the sensible ones in the lot,—until she'd taken up with not one, but two werewolves that is. Walking in on his pup playing 'Little-Red Riding hood' with her two boyfriends had broken Chris a little. 

As much as Peter would have preferred to laugh his ass off at the traumatized hunter, for once he relented, playing the dutiful boyfriend instead. It wasn't exactly a hardship to spend the day in bed cuddling his lover, even if they could have been doing far more entertaining things.

"I can hear you plotting, you know." Chris sighs, rolling over, and hooking a leg across Peter's hip.

"Do you now?" He muses, pushing a hand under Chris' shirt.

"You want to fuck," Chris grumbles fiddling with the buttons of Peter's shirt in return.

"I always want to fuck when I'm around you, but in this case, you could view it as—therapy?" Peter swallows the protest before Chris can give voice to it properly, kissing his hunter until Chris is breathless and pliant; accepting even Peter's shifting.

"My grandpa, what big teeth you have." Chris murmurs against Peter's mouth when the wolf finally removes his tongue. Peter almost kicks him off the bed for that.

"I'm younger than you, asshole." He growls, indignant, pinning Chris to the bed to give himself time to contemplate revenge. The hunter grins unrepentantly, shoving his hands into the back of Peter's jeans.

"Just playing along," he doesn't even flinch when Peter snaps his teeth at him, the bastard.

Sometimes Peter really misses Chris flinching when he did that, but doesn't miss the fight that usually followed so…, "if I recall correctly my next line should be something along the lines of 'the better to eat you with.'" He destroys another of Chris' belts and tears the buttons off the hunter's jeans decidedly not smirking at finding Chris mostly hard for him despite his complaints. Keeping Chris' arms pinned against his sides, Peter bends almost double licking teasingly at the head of the rosy dick until Chris tries to thrust up into his mouth.

"Eager, aren't we?" He teases, licking his chops while considering his options.

"Peter!" Chris curses, "do something, or you'll end up like the wolf in the story!" 

"Well, really—," He grumbles, wondering which version Chris grew up with. "You know, in some versions of the story a hunter comes along while the wolf is sleeping, cuts him open—," he drags his claws along Chris' abdomen ruffling the treasure trail, "rescuing the girl and grandma, and fills the wolf's belly with rocks before sewing him up again." 

"Well, that's stupid," Chris snorts, Peter huffs in frustration.

"It's a fairy tale Christopher, not an instruction manual!" 

"Why?" The hunter frowns, stuck on the point, raising his free hand to trace the muscles of Peter's abdomen, "if it was gutted, the huntsman should have kept going and cut him in half just in case." 

"You really know how to kill the mood, dear!" Peter snarls, annoyed by Chris' casual comment, only to get dragged back onto Chris' chest.

"Sorry," the hunter offers half-heartedly, but arching his throat in a gesture Peter can't resist.

He nips at the vulnerable skin, maybe a bit too sharply, but Chris doesn't complain and that for the moment is satisfying enough for him to settle. "You were saying?" 

"I was telling you how the story ends: the wolf wakes up with a belly full of rocks, and tries to run when he sees the hunter—ripping himself apart because the stones are too heavy for him to move." Chris groans and buries his face in Peter's chest: human hot, and groaning like wounded prey. "How is that better than what I just said?" 

"Use your imagination, Christopher." Peter sighs, wondering if trauma kills brain cells in hunters? It would certainly explain a lot about them. While Chris thinks, Peter indulges himself, rubbing against the hunter's body indulging the need to mark his lover for all to smell.

Finally, Chris' hand makes its way to Peter's abdomen, fingers trembling as they trace the gnarled muscle with awe. "You—," he gasps and Peter purrs in pleasure.

"Yes," he hisses, "I would let you," in Chris' ear and Chis' mouth goes dry, his brain taken over by the potential of Peter's offer, "I would let you fill me up, breed me until it feels like I'm knocked up, full of your pups, leaking your come every time I move."

"Damn it, Peter!" Chris curses, Peter can read the warring impulses to gag him before he can continue, and to demand they do everything Peter just describing as soon as possible. The wolf just smirks, enjoying the way Chris squirms.

"Shut up!" he is ordered, "shut up! Or I will make you!" the hunter threatens hoarse with arousal. "Don't you have to call your posse for that?" Peter wonders innocently, nuzzling at Chris' collarbone.

With a growl, the hunter pushes him onto his back straddling Peter's hips. He could toss Chris off without much effort, but the way the hunter smells—the promise of pleasurable reprisal keeps Peter from making too much of an effort to struggle.

"You're really asking for it now." Chris' hands cupping his face are one of his favorite things in the world, the way the hunter looks disgustingly fond of Peter—the way the wolfbane embedded in Chris' skin burns Peter's tongue when Chris pries his mouth open and pushes his thumb in. He lets his fangs drop, careful not to snag Chris' skin, just teasing them both with the danger of it. "Always asking for it, pushing, pissing people off until someone takes you down." Chris shoves the wet thumb roughly in Peter's ass, twisting and pumping until he has to bite his lip to keep from demanding more.

The thumb becomes two fingers, becomes three as Peter fights not to fight too hard, to keep from overpowering Chris and taking what he wants. Chris working another finger in brings Peter back to himself somewhat, makes him open his eyes and look trying to read the hunter's face. At once the human stops, knuckles stretching Peter wide deliciously, promising—, "Christopher?" He questions lazily, wondering what the answer is going to be.

"You said you'd let me!" Chris practically whispers in return, his voice hoarse for no reason, practically whispering, his fingers trembling or twitching in Peter's body, the rest of him still as a statue. The need in Chris' eyes, the want, the prospect of having Chris so deep to be the first being ever to have had Chris so deep inside him—the prospect makes Peter greedy.

"Yessss," he hisses tightening himself around Chris' fingers uncomfortably, "do it!" He demands, flashing his eyes to spur the hunter on.

"Then hold yourself open," Chris demands in turn, jerkily pushing his fingers deep again, twists them carefully, corkscrews himself an inch deeper as Peter hooks his hands under his knees opening himself obscenely. Pillows are shoved under the small of his back, which amuses the small part of Peter that isn't yet lost in physical delights, the part that enjoys watching Chris suffer just as much as it enjoys watching his pleasure. The hunter looks feverish, wild even, all traces of parental agony wiped away by the fever of arousal. Their eyes lock, and time slows down, both of them barely remembering to breathe as Chris works a fourth finger past the rim of Peter's ass, pushing in till his knuckles. Chris' thumb strokes along the rim, nail catching here and there, sending jolts of sensation up Peter's spine until he's barely holding on, fighting the urge to demand Chris shove in already.

"I can't believe you're letting me do this," Chris groans, pulling out just enough to fold his thumb in, Peter's head falling back and a keen escaping as the widest part of Chris' hand spreads him wide. Peter can feel the hunter tremble, can feel him from the inside like he has never felt him before. He's never allowed anyone to own him in this way and there he is giving himself to a hunter.

"More!" He growls, howling when Chris, startled out of his daze, pushes deeper reflectively. Peter can feel Chris' fingers curling inside of him until there is a fist heavy and deep in his gut pressing on his prostate. He imagines this is what a bitch feels when she's knotted, imagines it's Chris' dick stretching him out instead of his hand that he's actually getting bred.

"Peter!" Chris growls, sitting up, pressing closer, pressing deeper into him. Peter can smell him, ripe and dripping, sweating with the strain of keeping himself under control.

"Fuck me, hunter!" Peter snaps and Chris lunges forward, twisting his hand, pushing even deeper and Peter is howling again.

He smells blood, rich and fresh and it takes a while for Peter to realize that it's his own, that his claws have come out, that he's clawed himself open and hadn't even noticed, neither of them had. Chris notices too, but his attention keeps wandering back to where Peter's tortured hole is throbbing around his wrist, braces on Peter's chest to get closer crouching over Peter like he's going to go for his throat any moment teeth bared in concentration.

"Show me how much you like it, wolf!" Chris growls twisting his hand, "I want to see you come hanging off my fist." He punches in again and again like he's aiming to punch through right to Peter's heart and for one blinding moment, Peter wants him to. He tightens his ass around Chris' fist, breathes lungful after lungful of the hunter's arousal, somehow manages to get a hand on his dick jerking himself off on Chris' chest, marking the hunter as his own.

Peter, doesn't faint, he's never fainted from sex in his life—he just closes his eyes for a minute and if he doesn't notice Chris extricating his hand and replacing it with his dick, at least Peter gets the pleasure of watching Chris come apart cursing and gasping, slumping across Peter's chest.

After a while, Peter gets enough energy to poke the human in the ribs.

"Don't die on me, hunter." He demands, feeling too lazy for anything more.

"Don't flatter yourself," Chris huffs, but doesn't move a muscle. 

"Well, if at first, you don't succeed—," Peter muses philosophically, grimacing as he feels his body start to heal.

"I think I pulled something," the human complains, but since he doesn't exactly smell hurt, it's hard to tell. The scent of misery is gone as well, Chris smells tired and content, his pup the last thing on his mind.

Peter decides not to mention he's pretty sure that Chris is no longer the only traumatized one in the family.

Considering the family fondness for screwing werewolves, Chris really should have invested in soundproofing a long time ago. 


End file.
